


Cruel Compassion

by Washedawaycloud



Series: The Many Lives of Giselle-Sophia Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Choking, Demon!Cole, Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Graphic Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Humiliation, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Solas is just mentioned, Vaginal Sex, blood letting, degridation, erotic asphyxiation, internal ejaculation, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Washedawaycloud
Summary: Cole's been changed, a result of residual magic meant to bind a spirit that resulted in pride. Elle is going to heal his hurts, no matter the cost to herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> Lady inquisitor's been harboring secret feelings of affection and desire towards Cole for some time. He senses this, and after a tragic turn of events involving enemy blood mages something within him changes for the worse. 
> 
> big bonus for:  
> -possessive, sadistic cole  
> -dirty talk  
> -biting/marking her as his  
> -Inquisitor feeling guilty, thinking she's to blame and accepts his treatment as punishment
> 
> negative:  
> scat, watersports.

Elle has been worried about Cole for weeks now. It had been a mistake to take him with the party to free Wisdom. She hadn’t thought about how it would affect him, seeing one of his fellows twisted to another’s will, she had just known he made her feel safer whenever he was around and acted accordingly. However, for him to have to see Wisdom forced into Pride must have been heartbreaking. It must have hurt to feel the residual magic of the area that had twisted her.

 Usually, Elle would consult Solas about how to approach her dear Compassion Spirit. But, Solas is in mourning, and has yet to return from the Exalted Plains, or wherever he had gone to mourn.

It left her in a tight spot. How did you comfort Compassion? She poured over tomes for weeks, hoping to find the answer in a book, she wanted to get this right for him. Cole so often ‘healed the hurts’ of others, but no one healed his. But, there were no answers, and so, she very simply asked for Cole to come to her room. It would be far easier to speak with him when no one would happen upon them. When Varric and the Iron Bull were far away and could not encourage Compassion that humanity was better.

She’d gotten tea, not that Cole actually drank the stuff, more to calm her nerves than his, and sat waiting for him. It was dusk, and the warmth of the sun made her sigh, closing her eyes as the warmth sinks into the skin of her face. She almost misses hearing the door open to her room.  The fact that her door is opening makes her sit up straight, eyes trained on the staircase. It couldn’t be Cole, he wasn’t the sort to use doors if he could help it.

Yet, there he is, signature hat forgone, the pale blonde of his hair visible before the rest of his lanky form. He feels different. And it worries her. Cole had always felt so – light, as if he could float away on the softest breeze. Today he doesn’t feel that way. He feels solid – as solid as she is, or Cassandra is. Neither of them make a sound until he is facing her, and then it is her who breaks the silence with a soft, sharp, intake of breath.

Cole has always been terribly pale, dark circles under his eyes, hair lank – a reflection, perhaps, of what the boy Compassion had answered the call of looked like at the end. There’s more life to him, somehow. Eyes brighter, dark circles diminished, more color in his face. He stands staller, not making himself small or unnoticeable, blue yes usually so round with innocent desire to help are darker, more focused. Cole has never been handsome in a conventional sense, yet Elle has always noticed him. She has always gravitated to him, sought his company, befriended him near single mindedly. Their companions have remarked on it more than once.

“ _Worried about him, Maker, how do you heal compassion? Such a soft spot for him, never want him unhappy, just want him safe and near to me.”_ The sound of him speaking makes Giselle jolt in her seat, eyes refocusing on him as a whole rather than the differences. He’s stalking toward her, prowling, there are no other words to describe it. The intensity of him makes her shift in her chair, heat rising in her for reasons she will not name.

_“He’s different, but still Cole, is this a result of the him returning to a more spiritual nature? Is he going to leave me eventually? Why must my body betray things that have no purpose when it comes to him. He would never – “_ Giselle’s face heats and she squirms in her chair, turning her face away to cough delicately into her hand. Cole is usually better about invading people’s thoughts. Hers must be louder than normal this evening.

“I- hm. I wanted to know how you’re doing Cole. You’ve been a bit different these last few weeks. I was worried.” Her hand indicates he take the seat near her, a soft smile calling itself to her lips as she ignores everything he’s observed about her.  Pale eyes take him in as he eliminates the distance between them, folds himself into the chair beside her. The movements scream grace, confidence in self that Cole typically did not display off the battle field. It’s baffling, and a touch arousing.

“You call me to heal a hurt.” A statement, not a question. He looks intrigued by this. Elle doesn’t say anything simply nods her head. “You are afraid I was hurt seeing Wisdom like that. I was.” His head tilts toward her, and she feels as if he is weighing her, trying to see all of her at the same time.  All she wants is to help him. She cares for him so much – how can she not want to help him?

“Do you want to help me, Giselle?” His words make her blink, not having expected him to ask that. He very rarely ever used her name, or even her damnable titles, it’s caught her off guard. So much she answers without thinking – without remembering Cole is a spirit and such questions should always be answered carefully.

“Yes, of course I do.”

The words have barely left her lips when Cole is up and out of his chair, hauling her out of her chair, up and against him with an arm curled around her middle. It happens in the space of heart beats, and has her reeling back away from him. His hold on her doesn’t allow for much space to be put between them, in fact, her stomach is pressed tight against his, and it’s only between their chests there is any space from her actions.

“Cole – “Her utterance of his name is shaky, and draws a dark smile from the young spirit. It makes her shudder; her pulse speed up without her permission.

“Elle, so sweet, always wanting to help. Mercy, that is who resides in your soul. Take mercy on me, Elle, heal my hurts, hurts you caused, hurts you made when you took me to the plains.” His grip on her waist tightens, enough that Elle whimpers softly in pain. Her hands push against his chest and fear is beginning to take hold.

_“Cold fear racing down my spine, warmth pooling in my belly. Where is my Cole, what happened, what did I do? Oh Maker, what did I do.”_ He whispers it, leaning in toward her, blue eyes dark in their intensity. “You let them twist me.” The words are growled and the bottom drops out of Giselle’s stomach. “You said you would heal my hurts, Mercy, so heal them.” The demanding tone makes her flinch and Elle wishes she had waited for Solas. Wishes she had not called Cole here to seclusion.

“H-how?” Her question is pathetic, weak as a hundred scenarios fly through her mind of what he could want her to do to help him. Her answer, is a cruel smile and his mouth suddenly crashing down on hers. A surprised sound tears itself from her throat, and she pushes away, protest on her lips. A hand catches the back of her head, digs into the cloth she keeps to hide away her hair and tilts her head back sharply. A gasp sounds in the quiet of the room, and Cole looks at her.

“You said you were going to help, Elle. This is how. You’ve been wanting, selfish, always needing me near, now it’s my turn. I want, I need you near, you’re going to give me what I need.” Growled pronouncements, laying her bare and flaying her. He’d known. Oh, Maker save her, he had known.

The fight goes out of Giselle then, she becomes pliant in the Demon’s hold. And she knew this was a demon, because Cole would not have trapped her like this. It fits, in a way, that she is at a demon’s mercy, but she hates that it is Cole. Sweet Cole, oh how sorry she is.

When his mouth claims hers once more, she does not fight it. She is pliant for him, she opens when his lips urge her to. There is knowledge in him that he didn’t have before, at least she assumes so. The way he tastes her, the way his tongue invades and retreats only to invade again, it makes her clench and shiver. It’s lighting a fire in her she is ashamed of. Cole kisses her until she starts to squirm for breath, her fingers digging into the leather of his coat. Dazedly she notes his lips are red, just a touch swollen.  The Dark smile that he looks at her with now – it fits him when he looks like this.  His mouth descends again and Elle meets him, damns herself and meets him. This was her fault; her wonderful compassion is twisted and it’s only right she tries to give him what he wants.

Her lip is bitten, sucked into his mouth to be soothed, and then he is invading her again, fingers digging into her waist when a small groan sounds between them. The kiss is harder, his movements more calculated, so much so she does not notice when Cole moves them from their spot standing. She doesn’t notice until her back hits her bedpost, and he pulls away from her. Her waist is released, and she whimpers, blood rushing to the spots that will no doubt be bruises at first light. The hand at the back of her head shifts, the other cupping her cheek while the first brushes fingers against her own swollen lips. Elle is running on instinct and when the fingers drag across her lips, they part, her tongue coming forward and barely touching them.

The action makes has the blond man smiling. The next kiss is sweet, deceptively so, with his hand dropping to her neck, lying there on top of her robes that cover her collar bone. He gives her several such kisses, lulls her into a feeling of safety as he considers the options. Would he let her ‘help’ him this once? No, no, he enjoyed her taste too much to only have this one night with her. She was his now. He was keeping her. Especially if she staid so pliant for him. Cole muses that she will look so lovely bruised and writhing for him. He’d lay the ground work presently.

He parts from her, eyes taking stock of her. Hair hidden from view, robes that cover her from neck to the tips of her toes. So very chaste, his Inquisitor. He would very much enjoy breaking her of that. It starts with her hair; quick hands have it exposed and laying over her shoulders before a dagger is brought in front of them. He couldn’t risk cutting her hair, but her skin would heal if he made a mistake.

The glint of fire light off it draws Elle’s eyes from Cole’s face, and fear catches her again. She presses back against the bedpost, eyes darting nervously from the weapon to the spirit – demon. Her lips part, and Cole is quicker.

“Hush, Elle. You said you would help. I don’t like this robe, I can’t see you.” Soft words as he tugs at the neck of her robe, sliding the tip of the dagger into the space he’s made. The way she holds her breath is endearing, and highly satisfying. “How can you help if you’re hidden away. How can I feel you if I cannot touch you? How will I make you moan if you are covered like this?”

The shudder that wracks her is gratifying. His Inquisitor did like the way he spoke to her then. That was good to know. The dagger is carefully pulled through the fabric, baring her throat. The process is slow, more for her benefit than his, through the slow reveal of sun tone skin is arousing to him. Her breasts sit high, and are delightfully heaving when they are revealed, breast band intact for the moment. Her stomach is soft, but there is no pooch, she is simply soft – as she ought to be. He wanted her kept soft.  The hand that is used to pull fabric from her splays across her stomach, pets at her side for a moment before he returns to task.

Hips full and meant for bearing children, the scent of her overwhelms him. Warm, a hint of tart, he is going to devour her soon. But that is enough ripping, he can get her free now. The dagger is hidden away again, and his hands slide into the ruined robe. He caresses her hips, thumbs digging into her skin to watch her squirm to get away from the pressure. Clever fingers trace patterns on her abdomen, note were her body twitches as if tickled but make soft strained sounds of pleasure leave the little woman. There is so much of her to learn. Up, up, hands cupping breasts through the band, squeezing at them gently. Go slow, she’s not ready yet, later, later there can be marks and screams, for now there would be gentle care.

Elle is full on shaking by the time Cole’s hands feather across her collarbone and start to shove the fabric back. Dimly she realizes what he wants, and moves forward enough so there is space for the fabric to be pushed off her. It catches on her wrists, but the rogue seems not to mind, crouching before her and making her lean back before guiding each of her legs from the bottom of her robes. Dark eyes watch him as he works, waiting for signs that she’s done right or wrong. Sparks of warmth travel up her legs as calloused hands slide over her legs. He parts them, enough that he can fit between them, moves one to rest on his shoulder and then his lips are on her skin.

Her teeth dig into her lip, the pain bringing clarity to her. Desperately needed clarity. She could not enjoy this – if she did –

“You’re already mine, Giselle.” The rumbled words are pressed into her thigh, and sharp blue eyes meet hers. “You’re mine now. It doesn’t matter how much you enjoy my touch, my kisses, every part of you belongs to me now.” The words make her shudder as much as the drag of his lips on her thigh do. Lips part, wet kisses trailing to just shy of where her lets meet her hips. He sucks at that spot, deep pulls with teeth raking over her skin drawing blood to the surface, creating a bruise that would last days or longer without healing. It makes Elle cry out, hands flying to Cole’s head.

His answer is a smile, and an abrupt grasp of her hips while he shifts them half a foot to the left. The squeal of surprise has him laughing against her, her hands digging into his scalp in a futile effort to remain balanced. He shakes her off, pushes her back insistently until she sits and then lays back. With the remnants of her robes under her, her arms have far less mobility. He watches the way she tenses, the way she forces herself to relax.

Yes. The Inquisitor is his. His to have, to use, to torment. He shifts her right leg over his shoulder to join the left, and bites into the meat of her thigh immediately. He catches the way her back bows off the bed with dark satisfaction, though her pained cry brings him much more joy. The way she responds to him is intoxicating, and he’s barely done anything yet. Ever benevolent, Cruelty bathes the deep marks of his teeth with his tongue, reveling in the way her thighs start to shake the longer he pays them attention.

Such a responsive little thing. Chastity had its uses it seems. Tow head turns, and he presses his nose against her smalls. It makes her tense, makes him laugh against her before he takes a dramatic deep breath of her. Bitter, tart, wanting, ready. That is what she smells like to him, even as her hips shift to try and get away from him.  It’s nothing to immobilize them with his hands, one on either side, curled from under her thighs to hold her.

He attacks her through the thin material keeping her dignity intact – or throwing her sins into sharp relief. Cole can’t tell and doesn’t really care. Broad strokes of his tongue press to her lips, he sucks at where that little bud should be, watching as her breathing picks up pace, the way her hands twist in the sleeves of the ruined robe. He soaks the material with saliva and her wet, takes her to the point a flush starts on her belly and travels, up, up, all the way to her cheeks, and he pulls away from her. The low desperate sound she makes – music to his ears.

“Greedy, I can hear your skin singing to me. More, more, you want my mouth back, you want the smalls gone, you want, want, want. What should I give you little mage? Hm. Tell me that you’re mine and I will give you everything. Tell me you’re mine and you’ll help soothe what you’ve done to me, Elle.”

“C-Cole, this isn’t – “He bites her in reprimand, sharp on the softest part of her thigh. Her screech and sob has him letting go within moments. No blood, he didn’t go too far yet. He can’t yet, she’s not ready yet.  “Tell me.” Words low and filled with dangerous intent. Elle capitulates immediately, guilt and desire driving her more than sense is. “I’m yours. Every part of me is yours, Cole.”

“Such a good girl,” he attacks her again, groaning at the taste of her slick through the all but ruined small clothes. His assault is relentless, tongue, teeth, gentle suction until her hips are bucking fruitlessly in his hold. Her breaths are sort, heart speeding up as she nears a precipice. The demon denies her the fall, and laughs as she wails in frustration, eyes shut tight, moisture escaping regardless.

The dagger is produced again, slid with perfect pressure against her thighs. He would never cut her here, too much chance she’d shift and bleed all over the floor, bleed until she was gone. Cole didn’t want this to end so soon. The tip of the dagger presses at the edge of her smalls, delight blooming as the mage’s muscles go taught. She responds so beautifully, he should have done this months ago, so much wasted time. The heel of his hand presses against the bulge of his arousal, the first time he’s acknowledge it.

Soon, when she was crying, that was when he’d claim her sweetest hole. But not before. This was a lesson, one to makes sure Elle never told and never strayed from him.

A careful flick of his wrist and the smalls pull from her soaked curls and skin, the dagger slides, twists, and the seat of her panties is destroyed. A guffaw sounds in the room, and Elle desperately tries to shut her legs. Cole between them makes it impossible but she tries anyway. She hears the clatter of metal on wood, and his hands taking hold of her again. He spreads her, more than before, shifting closer, left hand moving to pull away ruined fabric that bites into her skin before giving way.

“Oh, Elle.” His breath on her makes her squirm, whining, fighting humiliation that rises in her. “So very chaste my beauty, I never expected this.” The thumb of his right-hand slides over smooth wet skin. “This is what whores do,” it’s breathed in awe and Elle twists to bury her face in the bed. It’s difficult, she only half manages it. “It is,” conversational tone, thumb swiping up and down the length of her. “I’ve seen it in other’s thoughts, bare lips, carefully trimmed curls. This is for women who wants to be seen, who relish it. The unchaste, the unholy, your women who take cock for money - the ones who write and scream for coin. Elle, I am shocked, my chaste beauty, perhaps not so chaste, hm?”

Cole mouths at her as he finishes speaking, delighting on the slide of his lips on hers. Elle is mortified, horrified that her body warmed further the more he spoke to her, the more he degraded her for a personal choice. She’d just liked the way it looked, she hadn’t wanted –

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls it into her, makes her back arch. “You wanted _me_ to see it. Wanted me to touch, to marvel, to sink myself into you when you were soaked. Don’t lie to me.”

A sharp nip makes her jump and she is fisting her hands so hard soon blood will be let. There is no comfort given to her. Instead he parts her, opens her lips to his gaze. A thumb slides over her entrance, she twitches, sobbing with want and regret. It puts pressure on her, but doesn’t breach her, before it slides away up to the bundle of nerves standing proudly waiting for attention. Elle jerks, a gasp force from her at the intensity of the feeling. His mouth replaces his thumb and she yells, curling up to almost sitting. Too much, the pleasure is knife sharp as it lances through her. Cole does not pause in his assault, tongue lashing at her and fingers sliding into her with an obscene squelch.

They stretch her, it burns just a touch even with the amount of wet she’s produced. He smiles against her, removing his fingers quickly just to replace them and make her wail. Between tongue and fingers, the demon’s got her shaking in a remarkably short amount of time. He drags her to the edge, closer than before, right to where it’s a fight between releasing and keeping hold of her magic. He’s got her where her hips ride his hand and his face, but she refuses to let her body do what it desperately wants.

Such a change from the first wo times, now he wants her to fall over the edge, and she denies herself. Cole seals his lips around her clit, sucks hard and twists his fingers in her. Her body clings to him, and the actions have Giselle screaming, but she hasn’t fallen yet. Cole growls, sets a punishing pace with his fingers, twisting them against the spot that has her twitching until she arches off the bed so sharply he’d have thought she’d been electrocuted. She makes no sound, but he feels it – her channel clamps down on his fingers like a vice, her skin is flush with color and the heat of the room has soared, fire roaring behind them, candles flaring. He keeps thrusting his fingers into her, giving her just the slightest stretch before he buries himself in her. It is a small kindness.

Elle sags against her coverlet, breath coming in gasps, and her body already tired. Two near orgasms had made this one almost unbearable. She is sore, she can feel twinges of pain every time Cole thrusts his fingers into her. Too much. Too much. But, Elle knows he isn’t done. She’d given herself over to him, he’d be done when he felt like it, not a moment sooner. Knowing that doesn’t stifle her sob of relief when his fingers leave her, when his tongue takes one last swipe at her, leaving her twitching, wanting still.

Sitting back on his heels, Cole observes his work, she’s flush, reddened, swollen. Not overly so, but enough. Just enough. Her body is covered in a fine shine of perspiration, Elle is limp on the bed. This is the perfect time for him to have her. Must as Cruelty likes a fight, he’s not willing to risk the Mage’s life just yet. She still had use for this world beyond him. He may be selfish, but he doesn’t want the world to end just yet. Not when he’s only know experiencing it.

He shrugs her legs from his shoulders, chuckling when they fall limp to either side of his shoulders and she makes no move to close them. Darling thing, he hopes she becomes like this every time he has her from now on. His breaches are unlaced almost absent mindedly, letting out a sigh when his cock is freed from its confines. The lack of pressure makes his state far more bearable. Lazily he stands between her legs, the hand that had freed his length taking it and starting to stroke it. He debates making her suck him, or simply riding her until she screams.

Compassion would not have lasted long inside her, the squeeze of her would have ended him within a handful of thrusts. But he isn’t compassion, and he will not succumb to her quickly. He watches her, tracks the rise and fall of her breasts, catches the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips. She’s not rousing as fast as he wants her too. The demon frowns, dives head long into her mind to pull material out of her to work with.

“Oh, Inquisitor,” a laugh, words purred, Elle languidly shifts to look at Cole looming over her at the foot of her bed. “You want to be laid out, you darling thing, laid out in front of your fellows, tied like in those Orlesian tales, blind folded so you can enjoy yourself, so you can hide your shame while you’re fucked until you break. What a beauty you are. And you do break so prettily. Maybe I’ll do that for you one night. A celebration for when you save the world. Would you like that, pet?”

He leans forward, abandoning his cock to support himself with a hand beside the curve of her waist. The other pets at her breasts in turn, feather light touches, just to make her shudder while her eyes glaze over. It was the darkest fantasy she had. To be trussed up so, to be defiled for all to see - so they would see she wasn’t divine. Cole loved it. It would happen, he’d make it happen, and then he would take her away, hide her somewhere and have her at his leisure until he’d twisted her spirit too.

But for now, he drinks in her whimpers and shivers, denies himself just a little longer to bring her to the point he could have her as hard as he wanted and she would scream for him, loud and well into the night. It takes longer than he’d like for her body to respond positively to his touches, but still, it happens, and that is what is important.

“Should we play a little game, Elle? Should I fetch a mirror, set you before it on all fours, ride you like a bitch in heat and make you watch? Or do you want me caging you in, with your body bent near in half, by cock pummeling the deepest parts of you unrelenting? I can do it all if you’re greedy enough for it. I could break you tonight. I could take you apart piece by piece, take your voice from you, take the function of your limbs, make a beautiful mess of your body and then leave you here for a maid or guard or even your councilors to find. All of it would heal what you did to me, but I am generous, I’ll let you chose. You just have to open your lips and speak to me.” He speaks and nuzzles against her throat, brings both hands to play with her breasts, plucking at her nipples through the cloth of her hand, twisting them until she cries out. Like all of her, these are pretty, soft, untouched for years and years. The nerves are responsive, readily so, and he takes advantage. He pulls and plays and caresses until she’s shuddering under him, legs desperate to close and denied as he still stands between them.

“Come on little firebug, tell me what you want. You’ve thought so many delicious things. You’ve wanted me to bury myself in your throat, you’ve wanted me to defile your pretty ass. You want and want and want, it’s amazing no one has taken you before me, before now.” He digs is teeth into the unmarred flesh of her neck, feels the way her arms come up to push him away and how they are kept from doing so by her sleeves. It has him laughing inside, tightening his hold on her neck, letting her panic and twist, dropping his hips when he feels her graze the length of him. The heat of her makes him groan, releasing the flesh he’s caught as hers and grinding against her mercilessly. She whimpers and whines, starting and stopping a half dozen sentences before the pressure of him over her leaves completely. There is no bite of the buckles of his leathers, there is no insistent pressure against her rapidly bruising nethers, not fingers tormenting her breasts.

Elle is bereft. Her eyes search Cole out and find him half way to the door of her room. “Cole.” His name is croaked, her voice already rough. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, he cannot leave yet. “Cole, please.” Her voice breaks on the second word and relief floods her when he pauses.

“Come back,” shame tints her whispered words. “Come back, fuck me, take what you want from me, heal your hurts. Heal them as many times as you must – just don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

In an instant Cole is at her feet again. He flicks open his breaches again, reveals himself to her hungry gaze and promptly removes the rest of his clothes. Boots kicked off, jacket, padding, shirts thrown this way and that. Knives and daggers of varying sizes clatter to the floor until he his bare. Elle had never given much thought to Cole’s body before. Yes, she wanted him, but it was not born of having observed his body and found it pleasing. Now she does find him pleasing. Wiry, rangy, big enough to control her, not big enough to crush her. Though, he likely could if he wanted to.

She is still as he crawls onto the bed, as he straddles her legs, hands sliding up her sides and taking her breast band in hand and ripping it. The sensation makes her yelp, tight fabric crushing her breasts and then sweet relief when there is nothing there again. She’s as bare as he is now, except for her wrists caught in her robes still.  He watches her, traces her neck, presses into the bruise he’s made.

“Tell me, Giselle. How do I fuck you tonight? How do I leave you for the morning? What way are you going to atone tonight? Are you going to use your mouth, your ass, or your very tasty cunt?”

She knows better than to stay silent this time. She’s worried he will do the opposite of what she requests, but it would be within his right to. What has she done to deserve his forgiveness, his kindness? Her teeth drag over her lip and she decides quickly.

“Take my – my.” She stumbles, cheeks flushing. Elle doesn’t make a habit of swearing, and for him to demand it of her.

“Giselle.” A hand cracks against her breast and she yells, tears stinging her eyes. “Cunt! As many times, as many as you need to fuck me.”

“It,” he corrects, calm as a lake, hand coming to pet where he had slapped. “I will fuck it, your cunt, as many times as I want. But I’m not fucking you. I’m using you, you’re letting me. Your holes are all mine, you gave them to me, and now you’re just parts and pieces, little love. Repeat it. Show me you understand.”

Elle feels the tears as they fall. His words cut at her, arouse her, shame her. He is right. Every word of it was true. “Y-You’re going to fuck it, until you don’t hurt anymore. I’m letting you use me, I’m letting you have ownership of me. I’m only parts and pieces for you, holes to heal your pain with.” The repeated words are barely more than a whisper, but she can see the triumph that fills Cole when he hears them.

“Oh, little love, you learn so quickly,” his lips take hers, a quick brutal kiss that mashes lips into teeth before his hands grab at her waist and shove her farther up the bed. He gets her where he wants her, rips her hands from the sleeves of her robe and settles himself between her legs with efficiency. The former spirit tilts his head just once to listen to her, to hear her mind tell itself over and over that she deserves this. She did this to him, he needed this. She owed him this. He practically purrs in happiness. The Inquisitor was his. All his, every part of her.

He hikes her legs up, draping them over his forearms before he leans forward over her. It brings her back up off the bed, balances her weight on her shoulders. It isn’t a comfortable position for her, he can read it in the lines of her body already.

“Guide me in, Elle.” She’s beautiful when her face goes scarlet. All of her is beautiful, those watery grey eyes, the hue of her skin, the white of her hair. And all of it is his. Her hand shakes as she reaches between them, her fingers are barely calloused as they wrap around him. Precious circle mage, not cut out for war, but she withstands it so beautifully. She sets the tip of his length at her entrance and he surges forward, making her scream and snatch her hand back before his hips catch it between them.

Her body throbs around him, under him she can’t seem to catch her breath, one hand having shot out to grab at his forearm, nails digging into his skin. It’s everything he wanted. It’s more soothing than she could ever know. Viciously, and doesn’t that just suit him now, Cole withdraws from her, without giving her enough time to adjust to his girth, and drives himself into her with a grunt. Her wail – Maker he loves how she wails for him. Again, and again he pulls away and drives back into her without giving her enough time to adjust to his length. She’d calmed somewhat in the time between her orgasm and now. The fear of him leaving having doused her arousal.

But her body is rallying. He can feel her become slicker again, he can hear it, the softest of noises at first as she works to make this less painful. It lets him push into her harder, and he adjusts his pose to make sure even with her wet, she will feel this for days. Her nails bite into his skin, the other thrust to the side to try and keep some semblance of balance as she’s tipped farther up.

He drives in and she keens, walls fluttering around him. Again, again – her head tosses, that flush starts to creep up her body. He moves faster, harder, a punishing pace that has the room heating thanks to her magic and the closer she comes to release. The room is filled with the symphony of his harsh groans and her high-pitched wails and keens, the sound of his hips slapping against hers. On, and on, Cole could do this forever, he wants to do this forever. This was just for him. He’d never let another person look at her with thoughts of lust in their eyes. He would cover her in bruises, he would pummel into her until she begged him to stop, use her until she couldn’t move the next day.

Sharp blue eyes watch as her tethers to the world slowly unravel. Again, she tries to hold off, she tries not to cum. The amusement rolls off him, and he redoubles his efforts, balancing on one hand to shove the other hand between them. He does not swipe his thumb over her clit, he knows she will be expecting it. Instead he catches it between fore and middle finger and pinches.

Elle _howls_. Her control snaps and the bed sheets smolder, his arm bleeds. Cole laughs, full and free, slowing marginally as her body pulls at him rhythmically with her release. When she sags again, he removes his length from her, rearranges her, on her knees, shoving a pillow beneath her head, tilting it to the side so she might breath. There was compassion in him still, just a spark, just for her, just to keep her alive.

Now his hands grab at her hips, above the bruises he had put their earlier with his hold. Sliding into her is like sliding home, the soft sound that leaves her his welcome. Feeling particularly giving, Cole lazily rolls his hips against hers. He relishes the feel of her, the way her body accommodates him. He adds his voice to hers to make a new song within the confines of the room. He continues until her body shudders under his, her low groan sending a delightful shudder down his spine. On a whim, he swipes his bloodied arm over the top of her back, and changes his lazy pace.

He fucks into her with measured strokes, harder, aiming to hear her groan and cry again. He leans over her, bites into her shoulder and this time doesn’t let go until she sobs brokenly as her skin breaks. The blood mixes with his, he drives into her, pace speeding up as he draws glyphs across her back. The body wasn’t a Mage any longer, but he is a demon. He isn’t afraid to pull the Fade to his will for his gain, not like Compassion had been.

Elle’s back tingles, the blood lights up as he fuels the spell, and he clamps his hands around her hips, dragging her back as he thrusts forward. In short order Elle is crying and calling out his name. Whether it is for him to stop or keep going is unclear, but Cole continues. He rides her until he feels that telltale coil the heat, the way his balls start to draw closer to his body.

“Are you mine, Giselle? Tell me!”

“ _YES!”_ Her scream makes the magic take hold and as the light flashes, blood settling into her skin, he sinks into her one last time and let’s go. This sensation is new, the release of seed, the way her body grabs at him. He can tell why mortals like it so much. But the intensity of it. It’s like he’s been punched, the force of it. But he’s never felt anything better, and when the last true wave of orgasm washes away, he flops onto his side, taking Elle with him, curling his arms around her possessively.

“Good. This is a start to heal what you’ve done.”


	2. Chapter 2

Giselle-Sophia wakes with a burning sensation in her ass ripping her from the Fade. She hadn’t even realized she was asleep. She must have made a noise, because Cole laughs behind her, grinding his cock into her cunt insistently. Maker, had he even withdrawn from her body while she slept?

He twists his finger in her hole and she bites at her duvet. It hurts. This shouldn’t hurt, should it? While she hadn’t out right asked Bull about his escapades, she’s heard he’s done this and it was pleasurable. This is far from it.

“Little love mercy, be patient. It’s never comfortable at first.” If she wasn’t deeply aware of Cole’s corruption his tenor would have been comforting. Instead it makes worry curl in her gut as surely as her arousal coils. His finger slides deeper, she whines, he laughs. It’s a process, and no matter how snuggly his hips are pressed to hers, no matter how deep he stuffs himself, Elle can’t relax while he does this. He rocks and rolls and grinds his cock into her, she can feel him at the very end of her, and slides that finger in and out of her other hole.

She doesn’t know how long it is before she relaxes, when the single digit starts to feel good. Even so it has her rocking back mindlessly to meet the grinding Cole does. It makes him laugh, pulling out to shove in sharp. The pain of it has her blinking back tears. Her body is sore, entrance bruised, swollen, same as her lips. While he grinds, she doesn’t feel it, when he thrusts she cannot stand it. Of course, he does it again, slides out as roughly as he shoves in, drawing from her a low wail. The finger in her bottom is summarily removed, leaving her gasping, hole immediately closing.

“Now that won’t do. Your hole is closing, Elle. It’s got to open for me. I need it open so I can take the last shred of your innocence like you took mine.” Light tone, but dark intent. A sob leaves her, dry, quiet, but she doesn’t fight. The white-haired young woman knows better. All of her is his. He’ll do as he pleases, she made the deal. His body blankets hers as Cruelty reaches for a bottle of oil just out of reach. It has her rocking forward, shoved into the bed, legs coming up off it and a shrill cry leaving her. All her lover does is laugh. He pauses, looking at her, face against the bed, back arched, hair spilling around her. Such contrasts. The burgundy of the blanket has her glowing, white hair, golden skin. His Inquisitor is a prize.

To hurt her he jostles her, bounces her just once and relishes her cry. He could have her like this, pained whimpers and grasping walls until his seed fills her again. This could be the only thing he does to her tonight. He could defile her other ways on different days. They cannot leave again until Solas returns. Elle never leaves him out of her party. May the spirits keep the elf busy for weeks longer yet.

He bounces his hips against hers, marveling in the way her already snug cunt grips him. The cry is broken, her voice is withering. A wide grin breaks across Cole’s mouth. He always keeps his promises. Surging forward, he grabs the bottle, listens to her cry into the covers and pulls back, let’s her breath and rest for a moment. He pours oil between her cheeks, enough to cover his hand, and sets it aside. She’s tense again, he feels it as he starts to move again.

_Cole don’t hurt me there. Please, please, I’ll do whatever you want don’t hurt me there. I’ll let you have me on the Inquisitor’s throne, you can fuck me in the middle of the rotunda, the court yard, just don’t hurt me like that._

Sweet fear, and her thoughts, it gives him a high. Should he take the deal? Should he humiliate her, walk her through the fade and fuck her on the steps where she took the name Inquisitor. Let all see just how holy their Herald truly is. Or shall he continue to break her in private. Shall he play with her and play with her until he should go and tell the Ambassador the Inquisitor is sick and can’t be disturbed. Does he want her dripping and twitching when he’d done, or crying and trying to hide herself while he rides her. Such delicious choices his Mercy puts before him. The hand he’d used before slides between her cheeks. He coats his fingers, marvels at the combination of oil, slick, and ejaculate make him slide so easily into her. The extra wet doesn’t seem to be helping Elle at all.

Her eyes are glassy with tears. Elle hurts, her lips hurt, her entrance hurts, her back hurts. In the back of her mind, the mage knows she can end this. All she needs to do is save her voice for one bloody curdling scream, and help will come running. Did it matter if they saw her being fucked by Cole if it ended this? Would they run him through or would they keep him locked away until Solas came and determined if he could be saved or not. Would they run her through for what she’s done?

“Mercy, Elle, little love, you’re mine now. Anchored to me, I’m anchored to you. Your body took the spell, you’ll never be rid of me.” He laughs as he speaks, and two fingers press and prod at her other hole. Elle’s hands shift, coming to rest on either side of her head and fisting up handfuls of cloth. Her body tenses.

Cole could tell her to relax. He could stop moving inside a channel that’s had too much activity after too long without and give her time to breath. He could stop all together. He forces her fingers into the tight ring of muscle. Deeper, deeper, he won’t let up pressure until he’s up to his knuckles in her. The pain knocks Elle’s breath from her. He can feel it, her panic, the cries of _too much, Maker save me, Cole stop_. He licks his lips, starts to thrust his fingers. If possible her ass is hotter than her cunt, it grips his fingers desperately, her hips twitch and buck and his thrusts turn brutal. He cannot wait to deflower this part of her. The only untouched part of her left. He knew her past, saw it in her mind’s eye. Youth and folly. She hasn’t learned much.

“I found you a toy while you were asleep. It’s going to hurt you. You’ll learn to enjoy it.” His hand twists as he presses into her roughly and she yelps. Her mind is slow, high off pleasure that fights the pain, and not working to capacity. It takes her a few moments to really get what he’s said. It makes her spine stiffen, and she throws a worried look over her shoulder. The spirit only let’s her see his smile.

In and out, in and out, Cole keeps his rhythm even, alternating between fingers and hips with the movements. Watching the line of Giselle-Sophia’s back as her head drops, he looks for the signs he is causing her pain. He knew what she could take, but he needed her to stay pliant, willing to let him use her like this in the future. A tentative line to walk, to balance her on. So, he stays steady, it’s a punishing pace, but it’s a mercy by his estimation. Cole would be just as happy to have her crying, bloody, broken. That would come later, after the rest of his fellows were sealed away.

When a broken moan fills the air around Cole and the Inquisitor, that is when his fingers are wrenched from her behind. It leaves the woman under him gasping, twitching, likely thankful for the reprieve of being too full and too roughly used. But he is not finished with her yet, not by half. Withdrawing his cock from Elle’s channel, slowly, Cole reaches for the toy laid just out of Elle’s sightline.

Metal, dawnstone to be exact, and more than a touch intimidating, the piece was tapered to a well blunted point, expanding to the size of a large plum and tapering down again. The end is flat, wide, meant to prevent the toy from sliding deeper into its host. The best feature is the runes painstakingly engraved into the bottom of it. Warmth, cold, electricity – three simple commands that would bring even the most seasoned user to their knees. Quite the find. Cole is proud to have found it, curious as to why any of the Skyhold vendors would stock such a thing, but pleased as well.

He eyes the short woman still bent as he’d left her. His eyes slide over her, watch as she breathes, as her muscles relax. Her nether lips are red, swollen, they would be bruised in the days to come. It brings a wicked smile to his thin lips – the idea that Elle would feel this for days and days. If she dared sit astride a horse she would be in agony.

A fitting punishment.

Shifting, he takes up the bottle of oil, pours some onto the toy before putting it to the side. He trades the toy into the opposite hand, using his clean one to spread the oil about. It won’t do to have Elle get sick because he wasn’t vigilant. Another little piece of kindness she would likely not see. When the pink metal is sufficiently glittering, Cole lays a hand on a bruised hip of his lover. His hand prints are all over the swells of her hips. A warm feeling not related to arousal swells in him as he drags the toy between her cheeks. The first touch of chilly metal to her over heated skin has the young woman yelping, shifting forward to escape the sensation.

The hand on her hip tightens and hauls her back, what little freedom she’d gained with the shift summarily reclaimed by the spirit. Cruelty wants to punish the mage for that. He wants to put her back on the edge of pleasure pain that kept her so quietly pliant. It would be easy, yet, he refrains. He steadies himself on the knifes edge and pulls her back with him. The hand on her hip shifts, reaching under her as the plug is used to toy with her back side. Cole plays at pressing it into her, and his fingers deftly manipulate the pearl of her sex. It fascinates the spirit, the play of emotions that run through the woman beneath him, fear and desire swirling together every time he presses against the pucker of her body with the bulb of the toy. Wretched self-loathing and greedy lust every time he puts pressure on her clit. This must be why Elle has given up use of her voice, why she lets him put her where he wants and do as he pleases.

Good.

Bored with playing with her this way, Cole pinches her clit, letting Elle scream as he presses the plug into her. She resists a bit, but her body ultimately accepts the object. When he lets, her pearl go, she partially collapses, cheeks and chest pressed to the bedding under her. Watching her, he leaves the bed a moment, cleaning his hands, letting her recover. Idly the spirit sorts through his lover’s emotions.  Pain, pleasure, confusion, self-loathing and heady lust. His perfect mercy. Perhaps not so merciful anymore? Time would tell. He cleans his thighs and member, mostly because he cannot stand the stickiness of them, using only the water he must for the job. It amuses Cole that Elle does not move the entire time. Not to run, not to attempt to dislodge the toy seated snuggly in her bottom, not to do anything more than breath. Looking at her on the bed, he notes how her legs have little rivers running down them, the mixed spend of them both. If he doesn’t clean her, he’ll have a job of using her again later, at least that is his reasoning for refreshing the water in the basin and moving to the bed with it and a cloth.

Seating himself behind her, he doesn’t mind his ardor has cooled, setting to work on cleaning her abused flesh. Keen eyes trail over the form bent and splayed before him. Those round hips he likes so much to hold onto are mottled with bruises, her shoulder bears the deep indentures of his teeth, scabbed over, the lips of her sex are bruised as well, and when he slides the cloth over them, Elle moans brokenly, face scrunching in discomfort. When he’s cleaned his seed from her, her slick from her skin, he trails his knuckles over the seam of her, whispering a gentle word. A little bit of the fade bends to his will, and his mage’s discomfort is eased. The tension her muscles have been carrying melts from her, and he laughs as her knees slide wide, lowering her body without fear of pain.

Putting aside his cleaning supplies, Cole crawls onto the bed behind Giselle. His hands slide up her flanks, deceptively gentle. When the muscles under his hands tense, he pauses, digs in with his fingers until the muscles release. His hands press into her sore body until she lays flat on her stomach on the bed, relaxed, content, he can feel it in the tenor of her being. The magic in the core of her soul sings softly, the aura it gives her placid.  Now Cole may begin again.

Elle is almost within the embrace of the Fade when her cheeks are pressed apart. Her mind says it is Cole, looking at the device he had forced into her earlier. The reminder of how it had pushed and pushed, stretching her makes her shiver. Now that it was in, it did not bother her. The weight of it in her passage is strange, but the presence can be ignored if she puts her mind elsewhere. Not that her lover will let her. She can feel those delicate fingers tracing the flat of the toy that rests against her skin while the other hand holds her open to his gaze. It makes her clench, twisting her face into the sheets of the bed. Of all the places, that he could look at her, play with her, she did not understand why he would play _there_. What use could it be to him, other than to cause her pain and humiliation?

As if sensing her mental questions, the teasing digits take hold of the flat of the toy, starting to pull at it with a gentle determination. Surprise and horror hit her in a single wave, and her body tightens. She did not want to feel the way it would pull and hurt to be taken out. She’d rather it just lay there heavy within her bowels. So, she resists. It is apparently, quite amusing to her spirit, because he laughs, and tugs the toy more forcibly. Her body gives only a little, the caught ring of muscle parting for a moment before Cole lets go and her body swallows the intruding metal back up.  A soft sigh of relief breaks the silence of the room that fell when Cole had stopped laughing. It’s a short-lived relief, because his fingers are back within a heartbeat, pulling and curling under the piece that keeps the toy from being completely consumed by her. He tugs, giving her a chance to hope he would not pull it from her. But those tugs become more forceful, more than she can fight against and eventually the bulb breaches her again. A short cry rips through the air, lips press to her bitten shoulder and a thumb presses against the stretched rim of her hole.

“You want it inside or out. No middle ground. The stretch makes your body warm and you don’t want to like it. You won’t want to acknowledge the ache it creates like this, when your muscles cannot decide to push or pull.” The observation comes as he teases the ring of muscle with careful fingers, the other hand holding the toy so her body could not be free of it. Her teeth dig into her lip and she shakes her head. No. She does not want it, will not accept it. Even as heat curls in her sex, as ache starts to drive coherent thought away – she doesn’t want it.

“Do not lie to me.” His lips part, teeth bite into her skin, making her back arch to be away from the feeling from him. It makes her hips tilt up and the toy is pushed back in. Her breath leaves her as if she’s been struck, a shock of pleasure shooting through her core. The lips that are on her skin pull into a smile. She can see it in her mind’s eye, wicked and black with intent. Slick smooth metal twists and tugs and eases itself out of her. He doesn’t leave it stretching her at its widest point, not for long, he pushes and pulls keeping her taught around the width of it with his other fingers toying with her flesh, tracing the ring of muscle alternating in pressure that threatened to breach; pressure that make her twitch and wiggle. The push pull too big, too full feeling has her head fuzzy with desires that Elle will not let the light of day see.

But Cole sees. He can’t help but see all of Giselle. She’s there now, under his skin, swirling in his mind. He heard other people, he could still hear cries for help and revenge in equal measure, but Giselle-Sophia was his main concern. He felt the way her body responded, the fission of desire that wracked her as he played. He saw the way her muscles tensed, the way she did not shift her hips away after she’d offered them unwittingly. Watching her makes his blood sing, and soon enough his focus shifts, the flex of muscles and rise of arousal centering between his thighs.

The process fascinated him. It was odd to describe, the way this body of his worked. The quietly pleasant feeling of warmth and arousal being tunneled and becoming more intense by degrees. The hand that had teased the rim of her ass removes itself, grabs at the cloth used to clean a moment before wrapping around the hardening length. Too much oil bothered him, too little chaffed. Moral bodies made no sense to him.  His head tilts back as he strokes, mind torn between the way he plays with the toy inside her and the delicious squeeze of his hand around himself. On a whim, his fingers leave the toy, but not before they brush pointedly over the fire glyph, smirking as her body shoots up as if to get away from the sudden heat, and dip to her lips. The tips of his fingers trail over them, marveling at how slick she already is, from just a few minutes of play.

“For protesting having the toy put inside, you like it. You’re wet, lips glistening, clit aching. You want something inside again. But – it’s different this time. You can’t tell where. You want something heavy on your tongue, something to suck and taste. That wars with the ache inside you, too full and not full enough. You want me to press inside again, want the violent thrusts and the heady too much too little feeling.” His hand abandons his cock, her lips, and pull her so her back is pressed to his chest. He fits his knees between hers, spreading them so she’s straddling him precariously.

Elle refuses to look at him, but he can see the way her cheeks burn, he knows her mind. There is some shifting, some choked sounds as he presses her back against him and nuzzles into her neck as his cock is laid against the meeting point of her lips. With an arm banded around her waist, his hips flex, languid movements drag him back and forth against her, his lips press against the mottled skin of her neck. He coaxes bruises into deeper vividness and takes joy in the way he’s marked her, in the way refreshing still young bruises makes her whine. His left hand that is free maps out her body, traces the curves of her with a gentleness Giselle cannot make sense of. There is no fierce tugging of her nipples, used as they have been, but gentle caresses, rolling between thumb and forefinger until they stand proud in the warmth of the room. The whispered obscenities are dampened by the gentle tone he uses, confuses her with the way he seems awed with what he reads in her mind. Like her poorly hidden depravity could shock him.

“Do you want me to press in with the toy?” The question comes as he takes hold of her earlobe with his teeth. “Should I see how well you like to be stretched? I could make sure the ache in your pussy is satisfied as well. You enjoyed the way my fingers treated you. Do you like the idea of me filling you to the point you might burst? Would you let me spend inside you? Or is that only to be done where it can wash into the deepest parts of you, where it can make a home?”

The violent shudder makes Cruelty grin. The want that surges through Giselle is unmistakable, from the strained groan to the way his cock is graced with a new flood of her desire. She wants all of it. Sweet Mercy, too happy to be used by him. Cole adjusts the way he’s positioned, thrusting up against her lips until he parts them around the head of his length. Now it is his turn to shudder, the heat of her distracting him from his goal. Face pressed into her neck he shallowly thrusts, sliding between her lips, arm making sure she cannot squirm away from him. He drinks those small sounds of hers, relishes the way her head tips back against his shoulder. The delight that takes hold of him each time he catches on her entrance and she whines is indescribable. For all that he is being gentle with her, for all he’d healed her, Elle’s body is still sore. The strength of her thighs cannot hide the way she twitches every time he almost slides into her. It cannot hide the shaking she does when pain undercuts the pleasure she’s experiencing.

He could take pity on her, he could slide into her well stretched arse, or let her have the taste of him coat her mouth and throat. He could give her reprieve from having him seated inside the place that aches with desire and pain from being used already. He could – but as he catches on her again, reangling his hips and slides inside – he smiles as she wails low and long in defeat. She had put this restriction on him, he had asked her where he could heal himself. She had said – and now she had to deal with it. Her thighs are stretched side over his, and her back arching as he adjusts his hold on her. A hand settling at the base of her throat to keep her from pitching over, the other pushing her hips into the correct angle as he ruts into her.  A sharp breath and he reads the desire before she can hide it again.

The hand on her throat shift, thumb pressing against the right jugular while the fingers press on the left. Her airflow is only barely restricted, but the effect on her is marked. Her hips roll with his, and her whimpers are louder. His only consideration of her is to keep the thrusts slow, even. He doesn’t jar her on his lap, spear her with his length, no. He feeds it back into her on every return, basking in the way she welcomes him with musical pleasured sounds and the tight grip of her body around him.

The spirit monitors her as her head lolls in his grip and her hips slow in the way they dance on his. He notes the lazy quality to the way grey eyes blink and lets up on the pressure against her veins. Her sudden orgasm takes him by surprise with a grunt. Cruelty barely hears the way she screams his name. All the spirit can acknowledge is the desperate clutch of her body – made tighter by presence of the toy still caught in her. The slick side of him inside her is unbearable, he thrusts harder up unto her, growls in frustration when he cannot get enough leverage.

Releasing his woman, a nudge has her falling forward, catching herself on her elbows before settling herself against the covers. With her legs spread wide, Cole hits the mouth of her womb with every thrust effortlessly. It pains her, but he can’t get enough of the sensation. Covering her back with his body, he ruts, a mindless, rhythm less action done just to chase his pleasure. It’s not enough, she’s too pliant, too wet. He needs more and less all at the same time.

Wrenching himself away from her, he grasps the toy and pulls it from her in a single movement. He pays no attention to the white-haired woman’s reaction. Not as he sprinkles oil sparingly onto himself, slicking his hand over the flesh once before shoving it into her. The grip of her on him has him seeing stars, and using her roughly. The end of it comes as sudden as hers had, it steamrolls the spirit, flattening him against her back as he jerks and pulses inside her.

This time, they collapse together, still connected chests rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths. Cole doesn’t slip from her until she falls back into the fade, and then he goes to tell everyone not to bother the Inquisitor – she was ill and needed her rest, perhaps for the next week or more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maker take the wheel. I'm finished with this truly. I am glad you've all enjoyed it! This chapter is dedicated to my wonderfully kinky soul-sister Viva.

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own as I've got no beta to speak of.  
> I feel like I need to go to confession after this.


End file.
